In the Name of Love
by Smackalicious
Summary: No one is allowed to take her from him. She is his. He loves her. And soon she will come to see it. Sequel to Unconditional. Ziva is being stalked by someone. McGiva. 4 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: In The Name of Love**  
**Pairing: McGee/Ziva**  
**Rating: PG-13**  
**Genre: Het**  
**Cat: Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort**  
**Spoilers: None.**  
**Warnings: Disturbing content. Will likely be some graphic violence at some point. **  
**Summary: No one is allowed to take her from him. She is his. He loves her. And soon she will come to see it.**  
**Author's Note: Sequel to Unconditional, in which Ziva is being stalked by an unnamed stalker. Hmm. The Continuing Adventures of Unnamed Stalker, perhaps? The resolution, shall we say. Sorry it took me so long to upload this here, but here it is. 4 chapters.  
**

* * *

She should be home. She should be in her apartment, stripping off her cargo pants and combat boots, stepping under the spray of the showerhead, rubbing her hands over her body as she thinks of one person and one person only.

Me.

But she's not home. I've been watching her window, waiting for the light to switch on, checking the street level for signs of her red Mini, but there is no sign. She isn't working late; all her co-workers are accounted for. Except one. That means only one thing.

She's with _him_.

If I headed to his apartment, a mere seven blocks away, I am sure there would be a light on in his window, and I'm sure I'd see her car parked on the street out front, taunting me. She's been shoving their relationship in my face, what with her buying him coffee, resting her hands on his shoulders as she hovers behind him at his desk, all those sexy smirks she directs his way.

I'm done watching. I am going to do something about it. Once she sees the lengths I will go to in order to be with her, she will have no choice but to be with me. No one loves her the way I do, not her family or her friends or that lowly nerd she chooses to act interested in. And that is all that is. An act. He cannot possibly care for her the way I do, and I know if she knew me, she would realize I am the one for her.

I'm wasting my time watching her empty apartment. It is clear she is not home. That has never stopped me from finding her before. And I am so good, she doesn't even know I'm following her. She will discover me when the time is right, when that precious partner of hers - the one she spends all that extra time with, learning boring things like computer programming - is no longer around to distract her from being with me.

I would do anything for her. If that means disposing of the person keeping us apart, so be it. I love her. Nothing is too much. We will be together.

* * *

At that moment, Ziva is indeed where he believes her to be - with Tim, sharing a friendly dinner. His perception of their relationship is misguided; they are close, yes, but it is only platonic. For now, anyway.

What he sees is a gradual flirtation, more touching and stolen glances, something that for them is fun, but nothing they're willing to risk their friendship for quite yet.

But he is convinced their relationship is of a sexual nature, that they find a way to sleep together when he's not looking, or share secret kisses alone in the elevator.

That is what drives him here tonight, to Tim's neighborhood, in search of the bright red Mini Cooper he has come to associate with Ziva's presence. He is not surprised to find it parked next to Tim's apartment building, and feels the building of hot bile rising up into his throat, choking him with anger. He knows the building opposite is home to a series of offices and will use it as a means of watching her tonight, finding out and making sure that his instincts are correct.

He disables security cameras, picks open locks, uses the elevator to reach the appropriate floor. He goes from room to room, frantic and impatient in his pursuit, until he comes upon a view of Tim's window and freezes at the sight. Ziva. _His_ Ziva. She's laughing. He takes out a camera and zooms in on the scene. She is beautiful, he thinks. So deadly beautiful.

And then, just as he is about to lower the camera, return to his car, plan his next move, there's another figure in the picture. The other man. Timothy McGee.

Tim stands behind her at the window and they are having a conversation, smiling and laughing. Innocent enough, until her smile disappears. Her eyes become lidded, she turns, and his arms snake around her.

The camera trembles in his hands, his fury controlling his nerves, and he nearly drops it, but manages to keep it trained on the couple - no, _pair_; he refuses to think of them as a couple - and what he sees next brings red into his vision, so angry it makes him.

They are kissing. His hand is in her hair, her arm is wrapped around his shoulders, their mouths . . . There is so much lust and passion in the way they are kissing each other. They break away. She turns to the window again, and he keeps the camera focused. Does she know he is there? She . . .

She closes the blinds. They drop down the pane, open slats flicking shut, and he drops the camera in his rage.

No. They can't be. He will not allow Tim to take his Ziva from him, to take that which should belong to him and him only.

"I love you." The first words he has spoken aloud in hours. His hand presses against the window, the heat from his fingers steaming up the glass, and he repeats the words. "I love you. I _love_ you. Love." His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you."

Then, as if a switch has been flicked somewhere inside his brain, he slams his open palm against the pane, anger seeping from every pore of his body.

No one is allowed to take her from him. She is _his_. _He_ loves her. And soon she will come to see it.

He has been patient, understanding, long enough. It is time for him to trade his camera for something more deadly.

And this time, she will be his.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Disturbing imagery ahead.  


* * *

Chapter Two**

Ziva lies in Tim's arms, their bodies hot and sticky from the moment of passion they gave into. It was not planned; it just happened. A flicker of guilt passes through her mind as she thinks about it; she feels as though she is taking something from him, something that was keeping him pure. She doesn't want to ruin that.

Or maybe it is just that she has a bad feeling. Not about them, necessarily, but a general ominous wash over everything, like a fog that covers the streets and leaves visibility close to zero. She can't explain it. It is disconcerting, to say the least.

And while she is far from the type of person to let a bad feeling get the best of her and make her feel fear, she can't help but wonder if this is real, that it is plausible, and she holds on to Tim just a bit tighter.

***

The blade is cool in my hand. So cold, so deadly. I test the tip against my finger and can't help but smile at the spot of blood that appears. Yes.

I think she would appreciate the gesture, how I would use her weapon of choice to murder her lover. No, wait. I don't like the sound of that.

Partner. Yes. I refuse to think of them as anything more than that.

Yes, I am quite looking forward to it. I can see it all so clearly: I arrive at his apartment, acting in the role of new neighbor or perhaps delivery boy, something admitting me entrance into his home. He would let me in, anyway, because though he's a federal agent, he is still a nice guy, and too trusting for his own good. Once inside, I announce who I am and my intentions, how I have been watching him for some time now, but more importantly, watching Ziva, keeping an eye on her.

He will be so shocked. How is that possible? he will want to know, or at the very least, it will be what he is thinking. His face will give him away. A baby face like that? I don't know who he's trying to fool working as a federal agent. Maybe that's why she acts the way she does around him; she must feel as though she needs to protect him.

At any rate, I will identify myself. He will come to realize how much I care about Ziva, what I would do for her, and then I will pull out the knife and insist he call her, have her come over, but if his voice trembles at all, that will be the end. I will slice into the tender flesh of his throat right then, watch his blood burble and spurt from the wound, staining his white a lovely shade of maroon.

And when Ziva comes to check on her precious, she will find him on the floor, lifeless. Then I will appear from the bathroom, where I have been cleaning up. She will be angry at first and will likely try to kill me herself, but then I will start speaking and she will come to understand.

I am doing all this for her, for _us_. We _will _be together. All I need to do now is get rid of the things keeping us apart, starting with Agent McGee.

***

"Ziva, you okay?"

"What? Oh. Yes. I am fine."

"You sure? You seem distracted."

"I . . . don't know."

"What?"

"I . . . have a bad feeling, McGee. I cannot place it."

"I'm sure it's nothing, Ziva. Don't worry."

***

Or, better yet, maybe he would catch them together, in bed after some sexual romp, and he could fulfill two of his goals at once. First, he would slaughter the lover as she looked on in horror, too shocked to prevent the mutilation. And then, then . . . He would gather her to his chest, delighting in the first wonderful touch of her body to his. Whisper soothing whispers into her ear. It would be okay; he would take care of her. He loves her.

He would calm her and she would realize the depths of his feelings for her. And she would allow him to make love to her, while she sobbed and screamed, her eyes on the blood staining the bed. And he would refuse to believe that she was crying over him, the man who had just died, but rather because she was so relieved, and because he was just that _good _. . .

***

Ziva's eyes snap open. She feels around in the bed. Warm, pliable flesh next to her. Tim. Alive. Her breathing slows back to a normal rate and she tries to fall back asleep. Just a dream. Maybe she's just feeling concerned that it will be written all over their faces come Monday morning and Gibbs will see and there would be reprimands and reassignments and nothing would be the same.

Her eyes snap open again. No. That will not work. Maybe she should just . . . Yes. She sits up, uncovering herself, and carefully slips out of Tim's bed. She does not want to wake him. He looks peaceful.

Ziva finds her clothes - tossed about the room in passionate frenzy - and dresses. It's dark, but in the city, it is never completely dark. The streetlights shine through the night, coating everything in a swath of light, and the yellowed glow through Tim's bedroom window, the blinds not completely shut, is enough for her to see.

She dresses and hesitates before leaving the room. She'll leave him a note in the kitchen. There's a pad of paper on the refrigerator for him to make his grocery list. Yes. That way he will know.

The note is written and he door clicks shut behind Ziva as she leaves. She jogs down the stairs to her car and as she pulls out, a streetlight burns out.

***

He waits in silence . . .

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._**


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sorry about the delay in updating. Some personal stuff came up. Also, swearing in this chapter.  
_**

* * *

Chapter Three**

"Hey, Ziva. Just me. Read your note, hope you're okay. You know you're more than welcome to spend the night, or you could have woken me up. But I guess . . . Uh, I'll talk to you when I talk to you. Bye, Ziva."

Ziva wakes up to the message on her voicemail, feeling slightly ashamed of her behavior, but more than that, unnerved by the overwhelming feeling of dread lodged deep in her stomach, like nausea. She couldn't go to Tim; he didn't think it was anything to be concerned about.

Her toast pops up then, causing her to jump.

_He's probably right_, she thinks. But if that's the case, why can't she shake this feeling?

***

It's Saturday. An optimal time to play out my plan, as neither of them are expected back until Monday. Unless they get a case, which won't happen. No, I'll go to his place and the next case their team will have will be his death.

I can hardly contain myself anymore. She will be shocked and devastated and vulnerable. The thought of the look on her face, how her eyes will be deep pools of loss . . . almost make me change my mind. But I won't. I can't. This is the only way we can be together, and I just can't wait any longer.

I slip the knife into its sheath and clip it to my belt loop, allowing my shirt to fall over it and hide it from view. It is time to set the plan in motion.

The door barely registers a sound as it shuts behind me.

***

Ziva sits at her kitchen counter, the surface shining up at her as she chews on her toast. She skipped her run this morning. There was something about being outside, in public, alone, that early in the morning that sent shivers all through her body, not just down her spine. She feels almost guilty for missing the daily routine and it is indeed throwing off her equilibrium even more than it had already been. It doesn't even matter that she is a warrior, someone trained to protect herself from even the most harrowing and dangerous situations; she is still a woman, a human being, and the feeling she is being followed makes her uneasy.

She finishes chewing and swallows, only then standing and walking to her bedroom and picking up her cell phone. Maybe he will listen this time . . .

The ringing through her phone seems endless and loud in her silent apartment. The phone rings and rings and Ziva nearly starts crying in her frustration; he _needs _to answer, she cannot be alone right now.

"McGee."

Upon hearing his voice, she lets out a breath she'd been holding. "McGee." It is the only thing she can think to do, is to repeat his name.

"What's wrong, Ziva? Are you in trouble? Where are you? I'll come to you." His voice is so serious now; he can tell something is not right.

"No, I just need . . ." She trails off, unable to vocalize her thoughts. _To not be alone_.

"Hold on, Ziva," Tim says suddenly, before she even has a chance to say it if she wanted. "Someone's at the door."

Ziva hears the exchange on her end: Tim walks to the door, opens it, says hi to the person on the other side, who announces he has a package and can he come inside?

"Ziva, you still there?"

She blinks as she is brought back into the scene and responds. "Yes. I am . . . coming over."

"Alright." He sounds unsure. "Bye, Ziva."

She closes her phone, ending the conversation, and looks around her apartment. Quickly shuts the bedroom window blinds and lets out a breath. It will be okay. She's going to Tim's and she won't be alone once she gets there.

As she closes the door to her apartment, she can't help but feel that everything is about to change.

***

I can't believe my luck. How easy it was to get inside the apartment and he was talking to her on the phone. I wanted to tell him to have her come over, but I have to play this slowly.

"Girlfriend?" I ask nonchalantly as he ends the call.

He looks troubled, but then seems to remember my presence and simply looks curious as he looks at me. "Uh, sorta. It's complicated."

_Sorta_. He wishes. She was probably telling him it's over and he's in denial. Can't really blame the guy, but . . . She's mine now. Or, if not now, soon. Only a matter of minutes now.

He's watching me, expectantly, studying my uniform, probably trying to decide if I'm legit. Strangely enough, I used to work as a delivery man, and still had one of my old shirts. It's how I first saw her, while delivering a package to the Navy Yard. Not that it would be difficult to forge the image, though. But this isn't about my shirt.

"Well, I just need to have you sign here," I say, pulling out my clipboard before he becomes suspicious. Though something tells me he already is.

He grabs the clipboard from me and scans the page before turning an evil eye back on me. "This isn't a receipt. And you're not a delivery boy. What's going on?"

He got me. I may as well tell him the truth . . . and then some.

***

Ziva's foot presses harder on the gas pedal as she speeds to Tim's apartment. It is a short trip, but she feels as though she cannot waste a minute. She simply wants this feeling to go away and to not be alone anymore.

She brakes to a halt before in front of his apartment building, barely taking the time to lock her car before rushing to the stairs, scaling them quickly, two at a time. The ominous tickle of fear in her stomach had turned into a churning mess of worry sometime during her drive over here. She just has a feeling, an absolute _feeling_ in the depths of her gut, that something is horribly wrong.

As she reaches Tim's floor, she finds herself approaching his door with caution, fearful of what she may find within. Her hand runs along the wall as she continues her careful walk to his apartment. Coming closer, she hears Tim's voice and the churning subsides slightly; he is home and he is alive. Why that second thought even enters her mind, she's not quite sure, but it doesn't matter.

"What's going on?" she hears Tim ask. There was someone at the door, she remembers.

The next thing she hears sends shivers down her spine.

"I've been watching you, Agent Timothy McGee. Well, not you specifically. You have something I want."

Ziva is frozen in place. She wants to move, _knows_ she has to go in and stop this, save Tim from . . .

"My stalker," she whispers to herself, her voice full of shock. Yes. It all makes perfect sense now - the bad feelings, the constant thought she was being followed, all of it. And now . . .

"What are you talking about?" Tim asks, completely oblivious to the stalker's intentions.

"No," Ziva whispers to herself. He _has _to see, he _has _. . .

"Ziva. You have her . . . and I want her." There is a slightly manic tone to his voice, and Ziva runs to his door, knocking casually as though she hasn't been listening, as though her heart isn't threatening to jump out of her chest.

"Uh . . . just a minute," Tim calls out, and she can hear it in his voice, can tell . . . The stalker . . . he must have a gun, or . . . or a knife, something. He came to Tim's apartment with murder on his mind.

"McGee, it's me," Ziva says, trying to keep the fear from her voice. She isn't as much scared for herself as she is for Tim, a man whose life was on the line for no other reason that being with her for one night. She swallows and tries again. "Ziva."

Silence. Unbearable silence. She rests her head against the door, willing herself not to cry. He wouldn't . . .

The sound of the doorknob turning and she lifts her head just in time as the door opens and she is face-to-face with Tim. One look at him tells her the situation in his apartment is far from being defused and that he wishes she weren't there right now and he feels so badly about this all, even though it is far from his fault. It is no one's fault. Still, Ziva feels responsible. She nods at him, an assurance that she can take of this and though Tim wants to take her hand, he avoids touching her.

Ziva walks through the door, her eyes flitting anxiously around the space, and Tim shuts the door behind her, revealing him - her stalker.

His mere appearance is nothing either Ziva or Tim would find threatening under normal circumstances - he is short, about 5'8", with a lanky build and messy dyed black hair that falls in his eyes. The thing that makes him unsettling is the predatory look he gives Ziva, and of course, the gleaming silver of the knife in his hand.

"It is me you want, yes?" Ziva asks, and can just hear the protest Tim is wanting to make, but continues. "Why my partner, then? And why don't you tell me your name?"

He looks slightly stunned, in awe of the fact that the object of his desire is indeed speaking to him, but then his eyes glaze over again and his gaze hardens. "He doesn't deserve you. You . . . you just haven't been able to see it yet. He'll . . . he'll hurt you." He nods, confirming his words to himself.

"You're wrong," Tim says, and the stalker's gaze shifts to him, hardening even further. "I won't hurt her. If that's what you're worried about . . ."

"No!" he screams, shaking the knife at Tim. "Don't you get it? Don't you fucking get it?! I can't . . . If I can't be with her, no one can." He takes a step closer. "And since you've already betrayed that, I have no choice left but to kill you."

Tim's eyes widen as the stalker takes another step toward him . . . but that is all the further he comes, as Ziva is now standing between then, staring into his eyes. The knife clatters to the floor as Ziva grabs his wrist in her hand.

"No," she says simply, and that is all she says. Her eyes speak the remaining words, and the stalker's eyes begin to fill with tears.

"You can't . . ." he breathes. "No . . . This isn't how it's supposed to happen."

"Life doesn't always work out as planned," Tim says, and slowly moves out from behind Ziva, making his way around her to cuff the other man.

As he realizes what is going on, the stalker's eyes flicker into a blaze of anger. "No!" he yells again, and before either of them can stop it, he lashes out with an arm, hitting Ziva with the back of his hand and causing her to drop to the floor more out of surprise than anything else.

"Ziva!" Tim says, his attention off the other man long enough for him to scramble on the floor for his knife, then pop back up, shoving the blade in Tim's face.

"No!" Ziva gasps, repeating what seems to be the word of the hour. "Please . . . don't do this."

He tightens his grip on Tim's shirt, looking over his shoulder. "It's the only way. It's the only way, Ziva. I have to protect you, I have to keep you pure." He pauses and Ziva almost starts to speak again, but then he is screaming, "My name is Aron! My name is Aron! You would know that if you had been paying attention!" Spittle is flying from his mouth and landing on the floor in front of Ziva.

Ziva pushes herself to her feet. "Aron, you don't . . . you don't want to do this. You are . . . only hurting me by doing this. Please." Her eyes meet his and plead with him, and she hopes the idea that he is in turn hurting her by attempting to hurt Tim will make him put down the knife.

His expression falters and he allows his hold on Tim's shirt to slacken, but still he clings as he shakes his head and speaks to her. "No . . . no . . . I would never . . ." Suddenly the look in his eyes is one of bloodlust, a disgusting fire burning for one thing only. "I love you, Ziva."

It takes all Ziva's strength not to visibly recoil at his words, she is so repulsed. He does not love her, he cannot possibly - he has no idea who she really is. If he knew . . . he would not be trying this. He would _know better_.

"You don't want to be with me," Ziva says suddenly, softly. "You do not even know who I am."

That's all it takes for the fire in Aron's eyes to erupt into an angry explosion, and he grabs Tim by the back of the neck, spinning the agent so his surprised gaze falls on Ziva. He presses the tip of the knife into the soft flesh of Tim's throat. Yes. _This _is more what he had in mind.

"Take it back," he growls at Ziva, and she watches as Tim swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing against the edge of the knife blade. She returns her gaze to Aron's face. "I know everything about you and I know . . . I know you can love me." His voice turns begging, pleading. "We can be happy. I can . . . I can _make _you happy. _This _guy," he presses the knife firmer into Tim's throat, "he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand you the way I do."

Ziva's stare stays strong. "And how is that?" She is in her warrior mode, using her Mossad training to distance herself from the situation. He is a terrorist, she tells herself, and it is not far from the truth. He is seeking to destroy her life, her way of living. His act of terrorism is focused on her . . . and Tim, an innocent civilian about to be blown apart when this bomb goes off.

"I'm just like you." Aron's whispered voice brings Ziva back to the situation. Her eyes meet his and she is horrified by what she sees in them - a sort of sadism, pure and simple. When he speaks again, time seems to stand still.

"I'm a killer."

**End Chapter Three**


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating again. This is the final chapter! More swearing and some violence here. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 4**

Why can't she see? We are so alike. I have studied her and become just like her, all to prove my loyalty to her. And yet, she says I do not understand.

"You are not a killer," she tells me, and I want to just slash into her precious McGee's throat right now, just to prove her wrong. "Killing one person in rage and jealousy does not make you a killer." I want to ask if that gives me permission to kill McGee, then, if it won't count, anyway, but then I catch the look she's giving him, like she's trying to give him a message.

"Hey! You two better not be . . . exchanging some secret code or something." I'm not stupid. That look meant something.

Ziva suddenly looks back at me and bursts out laughing. Laughing! Like this is all some kind of joke! We'll see how hard she's laughing when McGee's blood is spurting out of his carotid artery and onto her beautiful face, turning her into some sort of princess from hell, her beauty only intensified by the sticky liquid running off her cheeks, maybe into her open mouth. Oh yes.

"You are a truly delusional little man," she says once she's finished laughing, and her words are like venom straight from a snake's mouth, spitting and poisonous. But I've had my shots and while the words sting, I do not die, and I know her intent was not to kill. I can see it in her eyes. She wants to love me.

I shake my head. "No . . . no, I would never . . ." I can't let her do this. Clench my jaw, hold tighter to McGee. Her eyes flicker - perhaps she was waiting for it, anticipating her partner's death, looking forward to him being out of the picture so the two of us could be together at last. "I . . ."

"Do not say you love me." She shudders. Shudders? Surely she can't be disgusted by the idea? Why would anyone? To be loved unconditionally, so much that someone would _kill _to be with you . . . that must be the most flattering thing that could happen. Even if she does not reciprocate. Yet.

"What can I do?" She has reduced me to this, to _begging _her to tell me how I can win her heart. If I didn't have a knife at her partner's throat, if this weren't such an _urgent _situation, I would be on my knees, groveling at her feet. "What can I do to make you love me?"

She gives me a strange look. It is as though she cannot believe I would ask her such a question. Perhaps I do not need to be. Perhaps . . . she is already able to love me. She has seen my devotion and . . .

"Nothing."

Nothing? Does that mean . . . I have succeeded?

"Real love cannot be forced into existence. I will never love you."

What? No . . . She has to be lying . . . No, it's all because of _him_. "No!" I scream, and I feel the blood cut off to my fingertips as I squeeze the knife harder. "No! You're lying! You're not telling the truth! You asked for it, you asked for it . . ."

The knife tip pierces McGee's throat and the rich burgundy that seeps out excites me. Oh, yes. You asked for it. Precious _fucking _Special Agent McGee. Not so great now, are you? No, no - you're as good as dead. And Ziva, yes, _Ziva_ - she's all mine now. Mine! We'll be together forever!

"You will soon be regretting that decision," Ziva says and I raise my eyes to hers. Oh, her eyes are blazing. She wants me. Oh, _yes_, she _wants _me. She wants to rip off my clothes and _fuck _me while her partner slowly lays bleeding out on the floor, his last vision before dying being Ziva riding me. Oh, _yeah _. . .

"Shh, it's okay," I soothe, knowing she is just leery about expressing her true feelings while her partner is standing there. I smile. "Don't worry about him. It'll be fine."

"Not for you," she says.

What? What's that . . . Ahhhh! The bitch stabbed me! Oh, oh God . . . my-my chest, my poor beating heart . . . But Ziva . . . The knife, my knife . . . McGee was supposed to die, not me . . .

"No, no . . . Wasn't . . . No . . ." Can't talk straight. My voice . . . blood in my mouth . . . salty, and iron . . . "Not me . . ."

Too weak . . . falling . . . No . . . "He . . . Not supposed to happen like this . .."

Getting dark . . . no. . . I love you, Ziva . . .

Close my eyes and sleep . . .

***

She stares down at the still warm body, blood trickling out onto Tim's once spotless floor. The threat has been removed, the terrorism stopped, yet Ziva somehow does not feel any more at ease. She is still clutching her own knife in her hand, squeezing, knuckles white. He didn't even see it coming. He was too distracted by his feelings for her, the images of what their life together would be like, playing out in front of his blank gaze like a film, a horror movie.

"Ziva."

The sound of Tim's voice causes Ziva to drop the knife. It clatters to the floor, echoing hollowly through the otherwise silent apartment. She looks up at him, her face haunted.

"Ziva?" Tim repeats, this time as a question.

Her eyes fall to his neck, on the cut there, and she is suddenly aware again, and concerned. "Are you okay?" she asks, moving towards him.

He holds up a hand to bar her advance and leaves the other hand over the wound. "It's just a scratch, Ziva. I'll be fine."

She nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer. Her gaze then falls to the floor again, landing on Aron's body. She is looking at his eyes, trying to understand . . . Why her? What was it about her that drew him to her? And what pushed him over the edge? Tim could have died . . . because of her.

She lets out a small gasp as Tim touches her arm, her eyes flickering back to his, wide with surprise and the realization of what has happened. The blood on his fingers . . . the body on the floor . . . oh, God. She simply stares at him, her eyes unfocused, as she begins to process the situation.

And then, she is aware of warmth, of arms circled around her, a gentle but enveloping touch, and the first tear rushes down her cheek. That is all it takes, and she clutches and claws at Tim's shirt, his back and shoulders, as she sobs and sobs, soaking him with her tears.

He is patient and comforting, though he is bleeding, and scared himself. It does not matter. It isn't her fault. And it's all over now. She is safe. _They _are safe. Nothing will happen now. His heart is twisting in his chest, wrung into a painful knot, as he thinks about how this could have ended had Ziva not been so brave.

"You did the right thing," he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking. He is close to tears himself. He knows they need to call Gibbs, to tell him about what happened, that there is a dead man on his living room floor, killed by Ziva . . . but they are both so fragile right now. He doesn't know if they can face seeing Gibbs.

Ziva's sobs slow, until she is merely breathing heavily, still pawing absently at his back. The room smells of thick iron, the metallic scent of blood, and they both are aware that time is running away from them and they need to contact someone as soon as possible.

Suddenly Ziva feels herself being pulled away and reacts, freezing in place. Tim lets out a soft sigh.

"It's okay, Ziva. I'm just taking you into the bedroom."

It is then she seems to remember she is an NCIS agent, someone who sees death on a daily basis and who herself has killed many men. She removes herself from Tim's touch, her expression professional steel. "No," she says. "We have to call Gibbs. We need to take care of the body."

She does not miss the look on Tim's face as she speaks, the sad expression of disbelief and disappointment. She swallows heavily and reaches into her pocket for her cell phone, her fingers trembling as she flips it open and tries to dial.

Then, Tim's warm hand is covering hers and she looks up, trying to hide her fear. "It's okay," he says. "It's over. Let me call Gibbs."

She lifts her hand to his neck, bringing his hand covering it down so she can see the damage. "Will you be okay?" she asks, her voice softer than earlier, and it takes all Tim's willpower to not give in to his emotions, to not take her in his arms again and cover her in continuous reassurances that everything will be fine.

Instead, he nods and removes her curious fingers from his neck, holding onto her hand a little longer than necessary before releasing it and taking out his own cell phone. He presses the speed dial for Gibbs and holds the phone to his ear, watching Ziva as the phone rings and then as he speaks to Gibbs. She is staring at Aron's body again and Tim knows, can see at this moment, that there is so much to Ziva he had never seen before, and she is just as affected as anyone else.

He finishes the call and returns the phone to his pocket, then speaks, catching Ziva's attention. "Gibbs is on his way. He's calling Ducky and Tony, too."

She nods at his words, then finds her arms around him again, her face nestled against his heart, as he is saying, "I'm so sorry, Ziva. I'm so sorry."

And they remain standing like that until Gibbs arrives, then Ducky and Palmer, and Tony soon thereafter. It is a bustle of activity from then, the scene being documented and the body zipped into a body bag to be removed from the apartment.

Gibbs walks over to the agents after examining the body. "You two gonna be okay?" he asks quietly, and Tim looks to Ziva, who nods quickly.

"Yes, Gibbs," she says. "We have each other's backs, McGee and I."

Gibbs nods. "Why don't you two go to Ziva's and get some sleep."

"Boss?" Tim asks, confused.

"There's nothing more you can do here." He looks to the door, where Ducky and Palmer are wheeling Aron's body out, then looks at them again. "I know you two will watch out for each other."

"Yes, Boss," Tim says, and retreats to his bedroom to pack a suitcase to take to Ziva's. They leave shortly thereafter, Tim's hand resting protectively on Ziva's back, and Tony and Gibbs are left in the room.

It is silent for a moment, then Tony asks, "Why'd he do it, Boss?"

"Because he thought he loved her, DiNozzo," Gibbs replies, staring at the spot Aron had been. "He did it in the name of love."

**END**


End file.
